The Sabbath Guest
by Geheymer Maggid
Summary: Less than a year after the death of his daughter Shprintse, Tevye is waiting for something good to happen — and then a pious student arrives as a Sabbath guest. When the aspiring scholar falls for Taybl, the second youngest daughter, it seems like an answer to Tevye's prayers, but Taybl herself may have other plans. [Based mostly on the original stories. In progress.]
1. Tevye Does a Mitsve

**Author's Note:** This story is mostly drawn from the original stories with elements of the musical/movie mixed in. I've tried to retain a faint echo of the original flavor of the Yiddish stories, which really do have Hebrew peppered throughout. A mini-glossary of Yiddish, Hebrew, and occasionally Russian words will be included at the bottom of every chapter. Hebrew transliteration is based on Ashkenazi (Eastern European) pronunciation, and Yiddish transliteration – including names – mostly follows YIVO standard orthography. Biblical citations and other translations will also be included. But if you don't understand the quotes, I wouldn't break my head over them – they replicate the bewildering, exasperating effect that Tevye left on people (especially his wife!).

* * *

**Tevye Does a Mitsve**

The scent in the air was unmistakable – the cold was receding, and with it one of the harshest winters the people of the local shtetls could remember. Fuel and food shortages, on top of the usual list of pogroms and evictions enumerated in the Russian newspapers read aloud by Avrum the bookseller — did that man ever have any good news to share for a change? — all of it had been bleak, but it seemed the worst of it was over. Soon spring would arrive; so too would the rich Jews of Yehupetz, who would start moving into their magnificent dachas in anticipation of another fragrant summer. After the slow winter period, Tevye's business was sure to thrive again, a cycle that repeated itself year after year. He would set out with his cart loaded with cheeses and creams and milk jugs and would make his rounds to Anatevka and Boiberik, taking the rich Jews' jabs at him in stride and maybe even tossing back a few Torah-drenched barbs himself before coming home again in the evening to a proper meal and his three remaining happy, healthy girls.

No, not three. Two.

The weight of the past eight months hit him with full force, as it usually did during his time alone on the road. Had it really been so long since…? No. He had told himself thousands of times since then that he wouldn't think of it, wouldn't even dare pass along the road by the cemetery where she lay, even though his wife reminded him that her _yortsayt _would come upon them sooner rather than later. "You have to face up to it sometime, Tevye," she said, the usual scolding tone gone from her voice. Tears stood in her eyes. "She must be so lonely in there."

Against his better judgment, he imagined everything again, how she had looked when they pulled her out of the river, her pale face turned up to the sky, bluish lips slightly parted. But what haunted him most were her beautiful blue eyes: wide open, glassy, staring at nothing. Seeing her there, feeling his blood run cold in his veins, he thought for a moment that he was the one who had drowned. _Hoyshi'eyni, Eloyhim, ki vo'u mayim ad nofesh_.

A sharp pain tore through his chest, forcing him to slow his horse to a stop as he waited for it to pass.

Now was not the time to remember such things, nor would it do any good to waste his breath on curses. He had other business to attend to, or rather, one particular piece of business that lifted his spirits every time he thought about it. Taking up the reins and whip once more, he guided his horse and cart for the remaining stretch of road that separated him from his home, where Golde was no doubt making her last, feverish preparations for the Sabbath.

After stabling the horse and unloading the cart, he crossed the threshold with a smile, which didn't dim even as his heard his wife cry, "Ah, at last! The king enters his palace, late as ever, with the afternoon of Sabbath Eve almost gone! What happened this time? Did a gold brick fall from heaven right on your thick skull to give you such a stupid grin?"

Tevye didn't answer, but glanced at the spread Golde was preparing for the Sabbath evening meal. There was his plate at his usual spot at one end of the table, his wife's at the other, the candlesticks in the middle and the challah board and Kiddush cup set near them – yes, that was the same. But in the girls' spots, there was one plate for Taybl, one for Beylke, and one…. Surely she couldn't have read his mind!

Golde, who had been stirring the pot on the oven, saw him looking at the third plate and immediately rushed to it, embarrassed. "Oh, this… I just forgot for a moment…."

She made a move to remove it, but Tevye held out his hand to stop her. "Golde, I have good news."

Golde looked at him long and hard, then frowned. "Good news! Our enemies should hear good news from you. The last time you looked so pleased was when you invited _him_, a black year on his head." She didn't need to say who _he _was; Tevye knew exactly whom she meant.

"Now, Golde!" Tevye said admonishingly, unwilling to let her acerbic remarks ruin his newly uplifted mood. "Listen! What we have this Sabbath is the opportunity to do some good, a real _mitsve_."

"A _mitsve_? What are you on about? My husband spouts nothing but Torah all day, and now he wishes to be a _tsadik_!"

"I could argue with you about that, but as King Solomon said, _udvar-sh'fosim akh-lemakhsur_, and we stand to gain much in the eyes of Heaven, so let's not fight over earthly crumbs!" He waited to see if Golde would object, but she only gazed at him with one eyebrow raised, so he continued. "I was just about to head out from Anatevka after finishing my deliveries when an idea hit me. You know how over at the synagogue they have those little wooden planks with people's names etched in them – the ones they distribute to all the travelers passing through town so they know where they've been invited as guests for the Sabbath? Well, Tevye, I thought, it's high time you had your name etched on one of those planks just like those rich _sheyne yidn_ who sit by the eastern wall! It's high time you played host for once to some poor _shlimazl _who's had it worse than you! So you know what I did? I went right up to the rabbi's son and I said, 'Reb Mendel, you go ahead and scratch my name in – the Sabbath Bride won't be the only guest at my table tonight!' I even donated some money to fix the synagogue's leaky roof so he wouldn't argue."

"You _what?_" cried Golde in horror and disbelief. The sound of her voice attracted the attention of Beylke and Taybl, who poked their heads out from the other room where they were changing into their Sabbath best.

"A guest, _Tateh_?" said Taybl, more out of bewilderment than excitement. "You mean we're really going to have a guest for the Sabbath?"

"Yes, _ketsele_, it's true," Tevye replied. "And don't you worry – I'm sure he'll be a better sort than the last one," he added, half to reassure his wife and half to reassure himself.

"Have you lost it for good?" continued Golde, her voice becoming shriller. "What sort of 'guest' do you think this will be, Elijah the Prophet? I'll tell you what he'll be – a beggar! A vagrant! A wanderer! He could even bring the evil eye into this house! Tfu-tfu-tfu!" She spat three times in quick succession to avoid tempting such a terrible fate.

"Bah!" said Tevye. "Can we ignore the opportunity to provide hospitality to others, even though we have so little ourselves? What did Abraham say to his three guests? _Vekekho fas-lekhem vesa'adu lib'khem _– he fed them, and they turned out to be no less than three angels! And what happened after that? Barren Sarah had a son!"

"So it's sons you're after?"

Tevye shrugged. "If God wills such a thing, who am I to argue? After all, _odom yesoydoy mi'ofor _– but no, it's not sons I'm after. It's the chance to do someone, somewhere, some good." He lowered his voice. "If not for our sake, then for hers."

Golde looked at the five plates arranged on the table and sighed wearily. "But will we have enough food…?"

A few hours later, right after the Sabbath candles had been lit, Tevye set out on foot toward Anatevka in order to attend the Friday evening service. The sun sank behind view, deepening the shadows of the pine trees of the forest that lined either side of the road, and Tevye knew that if he walked at just the right pace, he wouldn't arrive at the synagogue too late. He left his wife and daughters at home this week to keep an eye on supper until the fire died and the last lingering warmth of the coals faded. "We won't eat a bite," he had told them, "until our guest arrives – and I'm not coming back unless I bring him with me!"

The guest – the guest… what if he did end up being Elijah the Prophet, heralding the arrival of the Messiah? What greater miracle could Tevye ask for than that, a prophet in his own humble house? Or, almost as good, what if this unknown guest turned out to be a scholar? Tevye was aching to hear words of Torah from someone who studied them full-time. "You yourself haven't done badly," Tevye, he reminded himself. "You're a learned man – for a milk carrier. But imagine what you could learn from a real _talmid khokhem_!"

The possibilities made him almost giddy and he picked up his pace. The rhythmic sound of his feet hitting the gravel suddenly made him think of a song he hadn't heard since his youth, and without realizing he began to sing aloud:

_Oy mazl, oy mazl, vu bistu fun mir antrinen?  
Ikh tu dikh zukhn in ale vinkelekh, un kon dikh nit gefinen_…

"Tevye, what's the matter with you, singing such a song!" he thought. "It's hardly cheerful enough for the Sabbath and for the blessings you've set yourself up for!" Hardly had he stopped singing when he realized he was not alone on the road, judging by the sound of creaking wheels and the jingling of a horse's harness in the distance. He turned and saw two horses pulling a cart at a brisk enough trot that it wouldn't be long before they overtook him. As the cart drew nearer, he could distinguish the driver – a small, silent peasant by the name of Alexei, if memory served – and his four passengers, all of them big Gentile boys from Boiberik, their faces flushed red from the cold and possibly from drink as well.

"Evening, Tevel!" one of them cried as the cart pulled up alongside. He was the only one of the four Tevye knew by name.

"Your health, Nikolai," Tevye replied, not without some nervousness.

"Why don't you keep singing for us?" asked another, his words slurring slightly.

"Because the song's already over! And why not? 'No man endures any longer than a breath,' so why should his songs?"

"Always have something to say about everything, don't you, Tevel?" said the third peasant, his face glowing with laughter. "Would you like a ride? We're heading to Anatevka."

The fourth peasant punched his friend's arm. "Idiot! Jews don't ride on their Sabbath!"

"It's a nice enough evening to walk," said Tevye, hoping to end the conversation there. "Good evening, gentlemen, good evening…."

The cart picked up speed and finally passed Tevye, its occupants laughing among themselves. But before they were completely out of earshot, Nikolai turned and called out, "By the way, Tevel, Fyedka Galagan sends his regards!"

Tevye heard those final words echoing in the trees as if mocking him. The entire rest of the way to Anatevka, he could feel his ears burning.

* * *

**Glossary:**  
_  
Ketsele_: "Kitten"; a term of endearment.  
_Mitsve_: "Good deed"; in other contexts, "commandment."  
_Sheyne yidn_: Literally, "nice Jews"; refers to members of the Jewish community who are wealthy or otherwise prestigious.  
_Shlimazl_: A chronically unlucky person into whose lap misfortune always seems to fall.  
_Talmid khokhem_: "Wise student"; a Torah scholar.  
_Tateh_: Papa.  
_Tsadik_: A righteous man; a righteous woman would be a _tsadekes_.  
_Yortsayt_: Literally, "time of year"; refers to the anniversary of the day of someone's death.

**Quotations:**

_Hoyshi'eyni,__ Eloyhim, ki vo'u mayim ad nofesh_: "Deliver me, O God, for the waters have reached my neck" (Psalms 69:1).  
_Udvar-sh'fosim akh-lemakhsur_: "But mere talk leads only to poverty" (Proverbs 14:23).  
_Vekekho fas-lekhem __vesa'adu lib'khem_: "Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves" (Genesis 18:5).  
_Odom yesoydoy mi'ofor_: "Man is but dust." (From a prayer during the High Holy Days.)  
_Oy mazl, oy mazl..._: "Oh luck, oh luck, where have you disappeared? / I seek you in every corner and cannot find you." (A Yiddish folk song.)  
"No man endures longer than a breath": Psalms 39:5 (JPS translation).


	2. Platten

**A/N:** This is a short one. As with the last chapter, see below for translations and citations.

* * *

_**Platten**_

Tevye arrived in town just as some stragglers like himself were filing into the synagogue between services amidst the loud, repeated cries of "_Yidn, in shul arayn_!" coming from the newly ordained Mendel, who acted as his father's personal assistant and considered himself personally responsible for calling all able-bodied Jewish men to attend services. As he passed the young rabbi, Tevye couldn't help but think of Solomon's words: _mevoreykh re'eyhu b'koyl godoyl bo'erev hashkeym k'loloh teykhoshev _— if I had to hear this shrieking every week, I'd consider it a curse, to be sure. He chucked to himself.

The synagogue of Anatevka was Tevye's favorite place in the world, except, of course, for _Eretz Yisroel_, which he doubted he would ever see with his poor Jewish eyes or trod with his poor Jewish feet. The building, constructed entirely of dark wood, did not appear terribly large outside, but inside it seemed so high that Tevye thought of it as an enormous wooden tent with four pillars like tent poles stretching into a pitch-black void. The walls had been decorated countless generations ago with depictions of animals and flowers and quotes from scripture, and in recent years, Yoshke Belensky, a local glazier who had amassed a fortune, designed and installed new windows with colored glass, enough to rival the church on the Gentile side of town. Beautiful red velvet curtains with silver embroidery, sewn by such devoted women as Golde's own grandmother Tsaytl, covered the Holy Ark where the Torah scrolls were kept.

The cantor was already standing at the _amud_, having just finished the afternoon service and now preparing to begin Kabbalas Shabbos. Tevye seated himself in his ordinary spot – not too close to the door, where only the truly destitute worshippers gathered, but not too close to the front or the eastern wall, either, which were privileged areas. By now the synagogue was as full as it was going to get, which on Friday nights was usually slightly less than half capacity. He looked around for friends, acquaintances, and those pesky busybodies he made pains to avoid.

"_Yedid nefesh, ov horakhamon_," the cantor began, grabbing Tevye's attention.

The rest of the service went by like a familiar dream, only this time Tevye found himself glancing back at the poorer worshippers by the door every now and again, wondering which of them was to be his Sabbath guest. There were a few faces he recognized – the wrinkled, heavily bearded face of Nokhem the beggar, for instance, who had worn the same floppy hat for years and who more often than not was Layzer-Wolf's Sabbath guest. Others, however, were drifters, people who only stayed in the hospitality house for a few days at most before moving on to the next town. Tevye didn't know them, and they usually didn't stay long enough for him to get to know them. Perhaps today would be different – perhaps his guest was among this sad, shuffling, shabby-looking group.

Once the service ended, Mendel situated himself by the synagogue's front doors carrying a stack of the _platten_ he had written out earlier in the day. From where he was, if he squinted, Tevye could see a few of the names: Layzer-Wolf Katsev, Mordkha Kretshmer, Chatzkel Rozenfeld. One by one, Mendel handed out the _platten_ to the patiently waiting needy, calling out the name of each host as he did so in his trumpet-like voice. "Reb Chatzkel!" he cried, handing that _platte_ to a disheveled girl who had come down from the women's gallery and was carrying a small child in her arms. Reb Chatzkel and his wife, all smiles, came up to collect their guests of the week. "Reb Mordkha!" said Mendel, handing a _platte _to a middle-aged man who, judging by the frayed ribbons and tarnished medals still attached to his dirty coat, was a veteran of one of the czar's wars. When he heard his name called, the innkeeper approached, ready with a hearty handshake and backslap to escort his guest away.

One by one, the rest of the names were called, and hosts and guests alike either filed out of the synagogue or lingered a bit to make small talk. Tevye waited patiently, but when he looked, Mendel – satisfied that each host had been matched up with a guest – had gathered up the _platten _again to reuse them next week and disappeared into the synagogue annex.

"Reb Mendel, wait!" Tevye called after him, but Mendel must not have heard, for he was already gone.

Tevye wasn't sure if he felt more sadness or anger in that moment. Who did this Mendel think he was, anyway, fleecing people of modest means – and all just because he was the son of a rabbi and now a rabbi himself? Hadn't Tevye given him money for the synagogue, or did that not count for anything? It was a good sum of kopecks, too, a sizable chunk of his profits for the week! "Dear Lord," he muttered, "_ma pishti uma khatosi_, that you took this chance away from my family and me?"

He was just about to get up and find the rabbi to give a piece of his mind when he felt a tap at his shoulder and heard a voice say timidly, "Pardon me, but are you Reb Tevye – _der milkhiker_?"

"Who's asking?" Tevye replied with a hint of irritation. He turned around and found himself looking at a young man in a peaked cap and the kind of decent but travel-stained clothes that could only belong to a student. He was somewhat pale, but not sickly, his youthful face framed by two carefully curled, light brown _peyos_. Now it made more sense – his long black coat and white shirt instantly marked him as Hasidic.

"My name is Levi-Yitzhok," he said, scrutinizing Tevye with his lively grey eyes as intensely as Tevye was scrutinizing him. "I'm your Sabbath guest."

Tevye stared at him in mute surprise, then caught sight of something the young man was holding in his hands: a brand new _platte_ with Tevye's name etched on its surface in Mendel's unmistakable handwriting.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Amud_: In the synagogue, lectern situated near the Holy Ark from which services are conducted.  
_Eretz Yisroel_: "The Land of Israel," referring specifically to the Biblically defined geographical area.  
_Kabbalas Shabbos_: Mystical prelude to Sabbath services at which a number of psalms and the hymn "Lekho Doydi" are recited.  
_Katsev_: Butcher (distinct from a _shoykhet_, "ritual slaughterer").  
_Kretshmer_: Innkeeper.  
_Milkhiker_: Dairyman.  
_Peyos_: Side-curls, most notably worn by Hasidic boys and men.  
_Platten_: Wooden planks inscribed with the names of townsfolk who volunteered to host guests – whether travelers or the poor – at their homes for the Sabbath.

**Quotations:**

_Yidn, in shul arayn_: "Jews, go to synagogue" (Yiddish cry publicly uttered by assistants to the rabbi before some prayer services).  
_Mevoreykh re'eyhu b'koyl godoyl bo'erev hashkeym k'loloh teykhoshev_: "Whoever blesses a neighbor with a loud voice, rising in the evening, will be counted as cursing" (slightly altered Proverbs 27:14). While the original verse reads "_baboker_" - which means "in the morning" - here Tevye alters it to "_bo'erev,_" which means "in the evening," since the prayer service to which he is going takes place then.  
_Yedid nefesh, ov horakhamon_: "Beloved of the soul, Father of compassion" (liturgical poem often sung before the Kabbalas Shabbos service begins).  
_Ma pishti uma khatosi_: "What is my offense? What is my sin" (Genesis 31:36)?


	3. The Sabbath Guest

**The Sabbath Guest**

They walked a good deal of the way back to Tevye's house in silence since Tevye wished to save his questions for when they were in the presence of the women, who no doubt would have plenty of questions of their own, and Levi-Yitzhok was too absorbed in observing his surroundings to pay much attention to conversation. He appeared to be thinking or praying – with Hasidim, it could be hard to tell the difference – and Tevye hesitated to disturb him. Still, he noticed his guest's empty hands and thought of something.

"Did you bring a bundle with you, Reb Levi-Yitzhok?"

"Yes, of course, but I left it in the synagogue lest I violate the Sabbath prohibition against carrying."

Pleased to find him responsive, Tevye pressed on in the conversation. "Have you been here long?"

"No, not really. I arrived here yesterday just in time for them to set up a place for me to sleep in the… women's gallery of the synagogue." He suddenly seemed embarrassed.

"There are certainly worse places you could sleep than that." Tevye couldn't restrain his curiosity anymore. "But what I want to know, Reb Levi-Yitzhok – if you'll permit me – is where you come from and why you're here in our humble Anatevka, of all places. Are you a _galitsyaner_? Don't take this the wrong way, but you sound like one."

Levi-Yitzhok smiled self-consciously. "Oh, it's my accent, isn't it? The thing is, I'm originally from Lublin, but I've been gathering wisdom from the _rebbes _in Lizhensk, Lvov, Sadgora, Chortkov, Medzhybizh… right now I'm on my way to Chernobyl."

"Well, you find wise men, and then – _vehevey shoyseh vatsomo es divreyhem _– eat up everything they say."

"Good advice from Yoyse ben Yoyezer," said Levi-Yitzhok with a nod. "But where Rabbon Gamliel said, _aseyh lekho rov_, one _rov _wouldn't be enough for me."

So! Tevye thought to himself. He knows the words of the Sages like the back of his hand and he's got a big appetite for learning. This would be a nice change from the usual kind of Sabbath conversation at home. "That's admirable, Reb Levi-Yitzhok, very admirable! But our sleepy little town is not exactly a 'meeting-place for the sages,' so why come here?"

"Let me put it like this, Reb Tevye," his guest replied, looking up at the moon and stars, "it's not because Anatevka is a convenient stop along the road to Chernobyl; in fact, it's a bit out of the way. So to be completely honest, it's the scenery that attracted me. Even at the crossroads where winter and spring meet, when everything is still so bare, this place is beautiful. The Maggid of Mezeritch said that there are sparks of holiness in everything – and that means nature, too. I could learn so much more about _ha-Boyreh_'s handiwork by letting myself be surrounded by it than by limiting myself to what can be seen through a yeshiva window."

"Young man, you give a poor Jew a lot to think about. You'll have to tell me about these 'sparks of holiness' later after we eat. _Im eyn kemakh eyn Toyroh _– you can't study holy words on an empty stomach."

Levi-Yitzhok smiled. "But don't forget it goes the other way around, too: _im eyn Toyroh eyn kemakh_. You can't nourish the body without also nourishing the soul."

Under most other circumstances, Tevye didn't like being bested or outwitted – especially when it was by the likes of Reb Mendel, who was always quick to correct Tevye's textual flubs, or that blackguard of a village priest, with whom Tevye frequently engaged in scriptural arguments. But for whatever reason, in this moment he couldn't help but smile as well. A real scholar gracing a dairyman's poor Sabbath table with his presence! Besides, unlike the stuffy Mendel, Levi-Yitzhok was a pleasant person. Sure, he was living in some mystical world of his own creation like all Hasidim, going on as he did about his sparks or whatever they were, but where was the harm in that? In a way, this student reminded him of another one he knew, one from Yehupetz – yes, this Levi-Yitzhok was Hodl's Perchik in Hasidic clothes, only gentler and dreaming of sparks of holiness instead of sparks of revolution. If only the two of them could meet! Then the conversation at the Sabbath table would really be lively. But with Perchik in Siberia, and dear Hodl freezing there with him….

At last, they approached Tevye's house. "Here we are! _Borukh ha'bo_, esteemed guest!" Placing a hand on Levi-Yitzhok's shoulder, he led the student through the front door, where the warm glow of the Sabbath lamp, a table laden with food, and the three women of the house awaited them. Levi-Yitzhok's eyes widened as Tevye said, "As you and I both know, _t'vuas s'fosov yishbo _– but meanwhile, it's no good to starve." He turned to his wife and daughters. "Everyone, this is Levi-Yitzhok of Lublin – he's a real scholar! Levi-Yitzhok, over there on that end of the table is Golde, 'the wife of my youth,' my _eyshes khayil_, who is 'far more precious than jewels—'" Golde, although still smiling, cast him a quick, sharp glance, but Tevye continued, "and whose 'tongue is full of kindly teaching.' Just you wait, I'm sure she'll give you a big helping of it. And these are my daughters sitting by her – Taybl and Beylke. The two of them are such treasures that with the three of these women together I count myself richer than the czar himself."

"Oh, Tateh, you'll smother us to death with your _shmalts_," said Beylke with a laugh.

"See how they love their father?" said Tevye, kissing her on the forehead.

"Welcome to our home, Levi-Yitzhok," said Golde affably, looking regal in her best Sabbath _sheytl_. Her tone changed abruptly as she addressed Tevye and pushed the wine-filled Kiddush cup toward him. "If you're done with these grand introductions, it's time to eat – otherwise the food will get so cold we'll be eating blocks of ice."

"All right, all right," said Tevye. "But I would be honored if our guest would say Kiddush tonight." He held out the cup to Levi-Yitzhok.

The student looked startled, as though Tevye's gesture abruptly tore his attention away from a distracting thought. He flushed red for no apparent reason. "Me? Oh, no, I—" Seeing that Tevye wouldn't budge, he relented and took the cup. "Well, if you insist." He obliged them by chanting the full blessing in a clear, confident voice, and after the washing of hands and blessing over the challah which followed, everyone sat down to eat the gefilte fish, chicken soup, and potato kugel so thoroughly prepared by Golde.

Throughout the meal, Taybl eyed the family guest warily as he ate, oblivious to just about everything except the food in front of him and Tevye's conversation. Once he cleaned off his plate, he waited until Golde – who was clearly proud that he seemed to find her food so delicious – heaped on another serving with the command, "Eat!" Taybl was annoyed; only a few hours ago her mother was concerned that there wasn't enough food for the four of them, let alone a guest, and now she was piling his plate high. She grew even more annoyed when she realized that when he wasn't looking at his food, this pious Levi-Yitzhok was looking at her. Who was he, anyway? He was just some wandering student without a kopek to his name or a proper roof over his head. Taybl didn't understand why her father insisted on dragging random strangers to their family's Sabbath meals. The first time was tolerable, since Perchik gave her some lessons and he stopped by so often that after a while he didn't seem like a guest anymore, but she'd just about had it after the last fiasco with… _him_, the man whose name her mother refused to hear around the house. And while it was true that she was so frustrated with her father's attempts to marry his daughters off to rich men that she herself would probably gladly marry a penniless scholar to avoid such a fate, this sort of attention was too much. When the time came to clear the dishes, she quickly jumped up to do so, if only because it meant she would be out of the boy's line of sight for at least a moment.

She slipped outside through the front door without a word, while from inside she could hear her father's lilting recitation of the grace after meals, followed by him and Levi-Yitzhok energetically singing _zemiros _and banging on the table. She stood by the front window pensively, and it was in this position that Beylke found her when she came outside some minutes later.

"Taybl, what're you thinking about, standing out in the cold by yourself as you are?"

"It's not that cold."

"I don't know how you can stand being here for so long without even a shawl. You'd better not let Mama see you."

They both fell silent, listening to the singing. "How long do you think they'll keep at it?" Taybl asked.

"Knowing Tateh, he could go all night. It's been a while since we've had a guest who gives the Sabbath the respect it's due. It makes him happy, and I'm happy for that. God knows how hard it's been for us these past few months."

Taybl peered through the fogged windowpanes, trying to make out Levi-Yitzhok's dark-clad figure. "What do you think of him?"

"He seems nice enough. There's a kind of earnestness about him – you can see it in his face, like Motl's. I can see how that might get on some people's nerves, though."

"Did you see him looking at me? I saw…" She dared to say the forbidden name now that her mother was out of earshot, but she still lowered her voice to a whisper. "I saw Ahronchik looking at Shprintse with eyes like that."

Beylke looked alarmed for a moment, but then laughed. "That's because all boys look at girls like that, silly. It doesn't mean they're like Ahronchik. Don't you remember Motl getting moon-eyed over Tsaytl? I'm surprised he ever walked straight, since he only seemed to be looking at her all the time."

Taybl absentmindedly picked at the remaining layer of snow on the windowsill with her finger. "Do you think either of us will have futures like Tsaytl's or Hodl's, Beylke?"

"You mean either dirt poor or in exile? God forbid. I'm holding out for something better, but remember that it's you who have to go to the _khupe _first." She turned and headed back inside the house.

"I haven't forgotten…" Taybl said, partly to herself. Before following her sister, she paused to listen as Levi-Yitzhok launched into a slow Hasidic _nigun_, and when she entered she saw that her father appeared to have fallen asleep at the table, leaning back slightly in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach, while Levi-Yitzhok, his eyes shut tightly, was leaning forward with his elbows on the table and was rubbing his temples. As she tiptoed silently across the floor toward the room she shared with Beylke, his full, plaintive voice followed her every step as though yearning for closeness.

The strange melody still echoing in her ears, she lay in bed and prayed fervently that it was closeness to God he longed for, not closeness to her.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Ha-Boyreh_: The Creator.  
_Galitsyaner_: Someone from Galicia, a region of Eastern Europe that now forms part of Poland and Ukraine.  
_Khupe_: Bridal canopy.  
_Kiddush_: From the Aramaic word meaning "holy." It refers to the prayer that ritually sanctifies the Sabbath or a Jewish holiday; it does _not_ mean consecrating the wine as one would do in, say, Catholic tradition.  
_Nigun_: A tune without lyrics, usually using repetitive sounds such as "bim-bim-bam" or "ai-ai-ai."  
_Rebbe_: In Hasidic parlance, the leader of a dynasty; it can also refer to a teacher in a Hebrew school or yeshiva.  
_Rov_: Teacher or personal spiritual guide. It's distinct from the term _rebbe_, although some Hasidim refer to their _rebbe_ as a _rov_.  
_Sheytl_: Traditional wig worn by observant, married Jewish women.  
_Shmalts_: Literally, "fat" from an animal such as a chicken, but here it means excessive sentimentality or mush.  
_Yeshiva_: A Jewish educational institution that focuses on studying traditional Jewish texts, primarily the Torah and the Talmud. A boy would start attending yeshiva at around 15 years old; girls were not allowed to attend.  
_Zemiros_: Tunes sung after the Friday evening meal.

**Quotations:**

_Vehevey shoyseh vatsomo es divreyhem_: "Drink in their words thirstily" (_Pirkey Avos_ 1:4).  
_Aseyh lekho rov_: "Accept a teacher upon yourself" (_Pirkey Avos_ 1:16).  
_Im eyn kemakh eyn Toyroh_: "If there is no flour, there is no Torah" (_Pirkey Avos_ 4:21; its inverse immediately follows).  
_T'vuas s'fosov yishbo_: "From the fruit of the mouth one's stomach is satisfied" (Proverbs 18.20).  
"The wife of my youth": From Proverbs 5:18, which reads "Let your fountain be blessed, and rejoice in the wife of your youth."  
_Eyshes khayil_: "A capable wife," also translated as "woman of valor" (Proverbs 31:10); Tevye's words after that come from the same place.


	4. Interlude: Sabbath Rest

**Interlude:  
Sabbath Rest**

Taybl carefully adjusted her position so that she was sitting squarely in the glow of the mid-afternoon sun, which slanted through her bedroom window and provided a measure of warmth on a day too cold for the family's usual Sabbath walks. In her lap was the worn, battered copy of the _Tseno Ureno_ that had been passed down from mother to daughter in her family for generations. When she was a child, Taybl loved to sit alongside her sisters on Sabbath afternoons listening to her mother read stories about the Biblical matriarchs while they all waited for Tevye to return from synagogue. Now, with her most of sisters grown up and gone from the house, Golde had given Taybl the book for her to keep on one condition: "When I'm old and perhaps nearly blind, you'll be the one reading to me."

Though she tried to study the commentaries on this week's Torah portion as she customarily did, she found it difficult to focus. From time to time she strained her ear and practically held her breath, waiting to catch the sound of her father returning and dreading to hear a second pair of footsteps returning with him. To distract herself from her anxiety, she glanced at her sister, who lay on her stomach on her bed, her black-stockinged feet swinging in the air excitedly. She was reading the same book as always, an old romance about a knight and a princess. It was the only other Yiddish book in the house, and Beylke had secretly bought it a few years before from Avrum the bookseller. Sensing that Taybl was staring at her, she looked up sheepishly. "What? I always get excited when Sir Bovo interrupts Princess Druzane's wedding to Macabron and convinces her to flee with him."

"You've read it forty times already. I don't understand your fascination with it – you're not the romantic type at all."

"It never gets old." She added quickly, "Besides, I'm mostly interested in Sir Bovo's magic horse. The romantic parts are just silly fantasy."

Taybl raised an eyebrow. "And the magic horse isn't?"

"It's probably more realistic than anything else in here."

Taybl would have said something in reply, but this time she definitely heard her father's heavy tread and rumbling voice. The book practically flew from her lap as she dashed to the doorway, her heart in her throat. Before she reached it, she heard her mother ask, "And where's Levi-Yitzhok?"

"He stayed in the _beis midrash_ to study," came the reply. "Such a mind! Such a passion for the Torah! He was trembling like a candle's flame."

"Will he be returning for _havdole_ or _melave-malke_?"

"I imagine he'll stay in the synagogue for that, but he sends his warmest thanks and regards. You know, Golde, there's something to be said for these Hasidim. Levi-Yitzhok was telling me that—"

Taybl stopped listening. For the first time that weekend, her shoulders eased and she heaved a sigh of relief.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Beis midrash_: Study house, usually attached to the synagogue.  
_Bovo-Bukh _(not named in the chapter): The book that Beylke is reading; a chivalric romance that is a Yiddish translation of an Italian translation of a 13th century Anglo-Norman original (whew).  
_Havdole_: Yiddish pronunciation of _havdalah_ ("separation"), the ceremony that marks the end of the Sabbath.  
_Melave-malke_: Literally, "escorting the Queen"; the meal eaten right after the Sabbath ends on Saturday night.  
_Tseno Ureno_: A 17th-century Yiddish collection of commentaries on the weekly Torah portions, aimed chiefly at women who could not read Hebrew; the title comes from Song of Songs 3:11: _Tseno ureno b'nos Tsiyon _("O maidens of Zion, go forth and see" - JPS translation).


	5. A Conversation in the House of Eternity

**A Conversation in the House of Eternity**

Everyone in the towns of Boiberik, Yehupetz, and Anatevka, no matter who they happened to be – rich or poor, Jew or Gentile – dreaded a visit to the cemetery. Taybl's parents were no exception, although they still paid regular visits in order to light _yortsayt_ candles and leave stones on the graves of newly departed loved ones and half-forgotten ancestors alike. "Girls, never walk alone on the street that goes by the _besoylem_, not even in the bright light of day. Do you hear me?" Golde admonished her daughters repeatedly, a hint of genuine fear evident in her voice. "You never know what defiled spirits or other evils you can encounter, God forbid."

There was a time when Taybl heeded her mother's words to the letter, averting her eyes whenever she passed even the signpost that pointed the direction to the cemetery and reciting the only psalm she knew entirely by heart, a psalm beseeching God's protection that had been taught to her by her grandmother long ago. "Recite it when you're afraid," her grandmother had said. "Demons can't stand it, so they'll leave you alone."

On the rare occasions when she worked up the courage to accompany her parents and sisters to the cemetery on the anniversaries of her grandparents' deaths, the shadows of leaves that flitted in the corners of her eyes became monstrous ghosts and ghouls in her young mind, so she would bury her face in her father's coat and whisper the psalm over and over again, consoled by the familiarity of the verses and the reassuring warmth of her father's presence as he stroked her head and recited the very words she was repeating.

_Ki malokhov y'tsaveh lokh, lishmorkho b'khol d'rokhekho_….

Ever since Shprintse's death, however, things were different. Several times a month, Taybl set out for the cemetery by herself, head held high in defiance of her mother's warnings and no longer on guard against any otherworldly apparitions. She found strange comfort in the crooked, crowded rows of tombstones that lined either side of the avenues of the dead, and gazed up at the gently swaying trees, whose rustling leaves and creaking branches seemed to murmur endless secrets.

But mostly she came to the cemetery to talk to her sister, and this is what she did on the clear, cool Sunday following the Sabbath. The place was entirely empty, just as she preferred it to be. After paying her respects at her grandparents' resting places, she arranged her skirts and sat as comfortably as she could on the grass in front of Shprintse's grave.

"It's such a cold and unfeeling block of stone." She sighed. "The total opposite of you. You were always full of life, so passionate about everything, with a thought and a kind word for everyone. Do you remember how we'd stay up late whispering and giggling in the dark until Chava would roll over and tell us to be quiet? And how we'd wait for her to go back to sleep and start all over again? I don't even remember what we talked about – it probably wasn't important, just like our petty fights and squabbles." She traced the letters of her sister's name distractedly. "I wish you could see us now, Shprintse – how broken we are. We're lost without you… or, at least I am. I'd gladly fight with you all over again if it meant having you here with us instead of lying down there. Can you even hear me, wherever you are? If I shed enough tears or prayed fervently enough to God, would that somehow bring you back? I don't know if I have any more of that in me. All I have left is anger.

"I miss your bright eyes, Shprintse. I miss your voice and the dimples in your cheeks when you smiled. I miss your advice and encouragement… you were always so mature for your age, so patient. 'Chin up, Taybl. It's not the end of the world… at least, not till the Messiah comes.'

"You know, I'm going to get married soon, probably to someone I don't know or don't care about. Tsaytl, Hodl, and Chava all got lucky, even if they ended up poor or so far away from us. I don't think I could take a stand like they did, and I think Tateh's tolerance of heartbreak has run out. That was all Ahronchik's fault.

"I hate him. He ruined you. You loved him so much, had so much faith and trust in him, and he ruined you, used you and tossed you aside like an old rag. You had so much to offer the world. He took it and crushed it until you were just a shadow of your former self. You were stupid enough to follow his lead and he killed you without laying a finger on you. Everyone else says you threw yourself into the river out of melancholy, but I know better. He's the one who tossed you in and let you drown, even though he was so far away by then, fleeing like the coward he is. He hasn't sent a word of apology or sympathy, you know – no, he's too rich and important for that, and we're too poor and insignificant. Well, I'll tell you what, Shprintse. If he dares show his face around here again, I'll kill him myself. I'll make him pay…."

Somewhere not too far away, a twig snapped. Taybl hastily stood up. Had she disturbed some restless spirit with her thoughts, the very thing her mother had warned her not to do? Or, worse, did she inadvertently voice those thoughts out loud? Her heart thumped wildly in her ears, drowning out her mental recitation of the ninety-first psalm. She didn't dare turn around.

"I'm sorry, did I disturb your prayer?" someone asked.

Realizing that the voice undeniably belonged to a living being, she turned slowly and recognized Levi-Yitzhok, who had changed into a different, cleaner set of traveling clothes. In the crook of his left arm he cradled a gnarled walking stick, with his small bundle of belongings tied to the end that hung over his shoulder. In his right hand he held a book that Taybl didn't recognize. When she could finally bring herself to look at his face, she noticed by his pallor that he seemed just as startled as she was.

"For a moment I thought you were a ghost. I'm glad I was wrong. You're… Taybl?"

"Yes, I am. And no, I… I wasn't praying, I…" She felt her face flush red. "I was just thinking."

"In my experience, they're often the same thing," he said, gazing thoughtfully at Shprintse's tombstone behind her.

Taybl sincerely hoped they weren't, and she wondered if God would hold her emotional, violent thoughts against her.

"Was she someone you knew?"

"Yes. She was my…" Taybl stopped herself, feeling that he didn't have the right to know Shprintse's story. "She was important to me."

"I'm sorry."

Taybl looked away, and then was suddenly irritated at his intrusion. "What are you doing here?" she asked curtly.

"I originally intended to pay my respects to someone, like you. I was told that a Hasidic _maggid_ who once preached in this area was buried here, so I came to find him. But in a moment of weakness, I fell asleep while reciting a psalm and only woke up when I heard your voice." He added, as if to himself, "_Borukh ato Adonoy mekhayyey hameysim_."

At that revelation, Taybl forgot her indignation and said in astonishment, "You what? You fell asleep… here?" Although she was not really afraid to come to the cemetery alone anymore, she still knew better than to let herself fall asleep there and put herself at the mercy of God only knew what kinds of evil forces. "You could have put your life in danger!"

"Normally that's true, I know, but for some reason I felt secure there, sleeping in the shadow of that righteous man's headstone – as if nothing could harm me."

Taybl understood what he meant. She sometimes felt that way while seated in front of Shprintse's grave, as if Shprintse were still protectively shielding her.

Instead of saying anything about that, she folded her arms across her chest. "Do you Hasidim normally nap in the shadows of your righteous men's graves?"

Levi-Yitzhok laughed self-consciously. "No, I can't say that's a normal pastime, not even for supposedly 'crazy' Jews like us."

Taybl smiled despite herself. "But it's true, you know. You people are crazy. I wouldn't put anything past you."

His grey eyes lit up. "Do you think so?" he asked, curling one of his _peyos_ around his finger as he pondered her words. "We-ell… maybe we are. But how can we help it? Hashem inspires such love in us that sometimes we're fit to burst. Of course we're going to be a little bit crazy." He looked around as if suddenly remembering his surroundings. "But what are we doing still standing here, giving the dead cause to laugh at us?"

"Why not give them a bit of merriment?" she asked, recalling how much her sister loved to laugh. "Maybe… maybe they need it."

The two of them stood in silence for a few moments, contemplating the houses of the dead around them and almost able to hear distant laughter carried on the wind.

Finally, Levi-Yitzhok shifted the weight of his bundle to his other shoulder. "It was nice seeing you again before I left, Taybl."

"Are you leaving us so soon, then?"

"It's what I do – I travel from yeshiva to yeshiva, from rebbe to rebbe. I'm going to Chernobyl."

"I wish you luck." And to her own surprise, she meant it.

"Thank you," he whispered, lowering his head avoiding her eyes. He took a few hesitant steps toward the cemetery gate, then appeared to change his mind. "Actually… before I go… would you permit me to walk you home? I didn't say a proper goodbye to your father and mother, and besides, it's dangerous for either of us to walk on this road alone."

She studied him, considering his offer but nevertheless remaining wary of him. Their eyes locked for a second; he quickly looked away as if the prospect of being confronted with the frankness of her gaze terrified him. Still, he remained relatively composed, although she noticed his _peyos_ tremble slightly. Her eyes fell on the book he held in his hand. "You may keep me company, but only if you tell me what you're reading."

He had entirely forgotten about the book's existence, so now he looked at it with some embarrassment. "This? It's… oh, it doesn't really matter that much. Just an old book." Sensing from her stance that her persistence would not let up so easily, he sighed. "Well. It's a little collection of sayings of our movement's founder, the Baal Shem Tov…."

While he struggled to describe the teachings of Hasidism to her, stumbling over his own words, they set off, leaving the dead to return to the tranquility of their rest and their patient hope in the coming of the Messiah.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Besoylem_: A cemetery; literally, "house of eternity."  
_Maggid_: An itinerant preacher and storyteller. Rabbi Mordechai Twersky (1770-1837), a Hasidic leader known as the Maggid of Chernobyl, is in fact buried in the real-life Anatevka.

**Quotations:**

_Ki malokhov y'tsaveh lokh, lishmorkho b'khol d'rokhekho_: "For He will order His angels to guard you wherever you go" (Psalms 91:11; JPS translation).  
_Borukh ato Adonoy mekhayyey hameysim_: "Blessed are You, Lord, who revives the dead"; part of the second blessing of the weekday Amidah prayer.


	6. Vagabond Stars

**Vagabond Stars**

**A/N: **Why yes, the title of this chapter _is_ a kind of nod to Sholem Aleichem's novel _Wandering Stars_, although here we're dealing with musicians and not actors. So I guess this is more like _Stempenyu_.

* * *

They had come from Bessarabia, having scraped together what few rubles they had left of the earnings from their last successful wedding in order to pay for ferry passage across the Dniester. After that, they headed for Odessa, bedding down in a cheap flophouse near Dalnytsia Street in the Moldavanka district, where they shared lodging with thieves, black marketeers, prostitutes, and poor musicians like themselves. It was there that they and their second fiddler, Yankel, separated over "creative differences" – namely, that Yankel lost all their money in gambling, then tried to gain it back in a bad stock speculation. And so, having lost their small sum of rubles and their second fiddler, the _kapelye_ set out once again in a wagon, this time toward the north.

"Things will be better in Yehupetz," said Arkady Sokolov, the lead fiddler and manager of the band, a short man whose slicked-back hair was thick with too much pomade and whose mustache was stiff with too much wax. "People aren't as likely to slit your throat for a kopek."

"I hope I can find a few pious Jews there," said Naftule Zeitlin. "I'm tired of you heretics!" He furrowed his brow in concentration as he tuned his _tsimbl_ and impatiently brushed away the whiskers of his long, grey-flecked dark beard when they threatened to get caught in the strings.

"Not like we need a second fiddle anyway," said Branko Jovanović, affectionately stroking his trumpet, which he had learned to play in the army. Born in Yekaterinoslav to a Serbian father and a Romani mother, he was the band's lone Gentile who, though he understood Yiddish, spoke only Ukrainian. "Yankel was getting too big for his boots, and he wasn't even that good."

"Forget Yankel, may he drop dead! We'll make it big in Yehupetz!" said Mishka Murovchik, the accordionist, with a burst of enthusiasm. "The _sheyne yidn _and even the _goyim_ will give us a fat cut to play at their daughters' weddings, and then we'll get all the warm beds, warm food, and warm women we want!"

"Now, now, nephew," said Arkady, wagging a finger, "who are you to talk about warm women when you've barely learned to shave?"

At that, the travelers erupted into raucous laughter, slapping the now red-faced Mishka on the back.

The only member of the band who didn't say a word was Yasha Spivak, the clarinetist. As night fell over the meadows and his friends' conversation turned to inns and vodka, he lit a cigarette and fell into a pensive mood, watching as the road back to Odessa unfurled behind him, twisting through trees and over hills until it vanished from view. He thought of the glimmering city on the Black Sea, the bright lamps along the Richelieu Steps, the grand hotels and wide boulevards. But most of all he thought of her, redheaded Oksana Nikolaevna, and the memory of her smile made him sigh.

"What's with Yasha? He's been unusually quiet," Mishka said, gesturing in his direction.

"Probably that singer," said Branko. "The one with the red hair."

"The _shikse_? Really?"

"Come on, Mishka. Are you really so surprised?" Naftule interjected. "He falls in love with a girl in every city, town, and shtetl we visit. Give him a day or two to swoon and sigh, and then it's back to business as usual."

On the afternoon of their second day on the road, they let the horse rest in a part of the country with which none of them were familiar, not even Arkady, who had done his fair share of traveling. While he argued with the driver (who insisted he knew where he was going) and pored over maps, trying in vain to find their location, Branko took young Mishka aside. "Listen, kid. We're not going anywhere while the boss is bickering, and he'll probably end up firing the driver for incompetence, leaving us in this… this _Hotzenklotz_ until we find a new one. You might as well scout the place for us – find out what the name is, what are the good places to drink and sleep, whether there are any weddings going on, and whether there's a band guild around. Maybe we can make something good come out of this."

When Mishka returned a couple hours later, the driver had already been fired and had hastened away with his wagon, muttering something about "uppity Jews" under his breath all the while. The members of the band stood around, debating their next move, until Branko caught sight of Mishka approaching.

"Well, kid? Where are we?" Branko asked.

"Anatevka," Mishka replied. "The man I asked, Reb Mordkha, runs an inn right up the way."

"Any girls we should know about?" asked Arkady. Yasha, still silent, stopped picking at the frayed hem of his coat sleeve and listened.

Mishka heaved a sigh. "The folks around here seem pretty pious, so make of that what you will." Everyone – except Naftule – seemed disappointed, but Mishka wasn't finished. "Don't fret! I have some good news that'll make this whole situation better."

Arkady perked up. "There's no band guild?"

"Even better!" said Mishka, smiling. "There aren't any proper _klezmorim_ for miles, and they've got a couple weddings lined up for the next week or so."

"Gentlemen," said Yasha, moving between Arkady and Branko and placing an arm around each man's shoulders. A sly smile crossed his lips and his black eyes gleamed with their usual liveliness. "I think we ought to show these _frume yidn_ a rollicking good time. What do you say?"

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Frume yidn_: Pious Jews.  
_Goyim_: Gentiles; can be derogatory depending on how it's used.  
_Hotzenklotz_: A backwater town; the Yiddish equivalent of "Hicksville."  
_Kapelye_: Band._  
Klezmorim_: Musicians. Singular, _klezmer_.  
_Shikse_: A non-Jewish woman; derogatory.  
_Tsimbl_: A hammered dulcimer.


	7. Sparks

**Sparks**

"I heard you say to my father during Shabbes that there are divine sparks in everything. What does that mean?" Taybl asked, dragging a thin stick in the dirt road alongside her.

"I don't know how to explain it simply, but…" Levi-Yitzhok bit his lower lip. "Well, thousands of years ago, when Hashem created the world, He poured out so much of Himself that the world couldn't contain His light. Can you imagine a place where the infinite meets the finite? And so the world, in a sense, shattered, and the light was scattered and concealed, waiting to be reunited with its Source. The residue of this original light is known as a spark. It's the task of every Jew to raise these sparks through _mitsves_ and other religious acts and thus return the light to the Source – to repair the shattered world, you could say."

They stopped at a crossroads, examining the signpost that showed the direction toward Boiberik. The stillness around them could have fooled them into believing they were the only two people in the world – no wagons passing by, no peasants shouting in the distance, no birds singing or small creatures darting through the underbrush. There was nothing but the sound of their footsteps crunching on the gravel and the melting snow dripping from the trees.

"These divine sparks… are they really everywhere? In everything?" Taybl asked quietly, struck almost breathless by the stark beauty of the winter landscape around her.

"Yes," replied Levi-Yitzhok in the same tone, perhaps moved by the same feelings. "In nature, for instance, or people, or even man-made objects."

In that moment, Taybl was inclined to believe him. "They're even in someone like me? A woman?"

He turned to look at her. "Of course they are! The holy Baal Shem even said once that…" He stopped, embarrassed.

"Said what?"

"Maybe we should keep walking," he said abruptly, setting off once again.

Taybl hurried to keep up with him, tossing aside the stick she had been dragging in her excitement. "Well, what was it? What did he say? There's no reason to be ashamed, if you claim to hold this man's teachings in such high regard."

Levi-Yitzhok sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but… what the Baal Shem said was… was that… it's possible to contemplate God in the beauty of a woman."

"That's a very nice sentiment," said Taybl, sensing his bashfulness and deciding not to tease him about it. Suddenly curious, she seized the opportunity to change the subject. "I was wondering, Levi-Yitzhok… you haven't said much about your family. What are they like? Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"What is there to say? My family's in Lublin, and I'm not."

"Yes, but what's your father like? Or your mother?"

"You really are persistent! My mother and your mother would probably get along well," he replied, chuckling to himself. "My father is a good man, if a little… inattentive. I've got an older brother and sister, and they're both married. That's really all there is to it."

She had other questions, but by now they were approaching her house, the door of which was already slightly open as if anticipating their arrival. She stepped back as her parents greeted the return of their Sabbath guest with eagerness, successfully evading what in other circumstances would have been her mother's stern questions about where she had been. She retreated to the room she shared with Beylke in order to be alone with her thoughts, only half-listening to her father and Levi-Yitzhok trading a string of scriptural quotations as though they were speaking some sort of code that was unintelligible to her.

* * *

Taybl stood next to her father at the gate, watching Levi-Yitzhok make his way down the road carrying two bundles instead of one. Despite his protests, Golde had loaded him with extra food for the journey, wrapping it up in an old linen tablecloth, insisting that just because he was a yeshiva _bokher_ didn't mean he had to eat like one.

"You'll waste away before you get there, _chas v'sholom_!" she had said, scandalized at the very idea. She spat three times to avoid the evil eye, and then made sure Levi-Yitzhok sprinkled salt in his pockets to protect him against bad spirits during his travels.

To Taybl's father, Levi-Yitzhok had given a slim leather-bound volume, still new-looking. "It's a collection of some of the Yiddish sermons of my" – he faltered, Taybl noticed – "my _rebbe_, Efrayim Mendel Shkolnik of Lublin."

"So! Is that your _rebbe_? Our own rabbi speaks highly of him. A very learned _tsadik_, I hear."

"Yes," whispered Levi-Yitzhok in awe. "He is a _tsadik_. He personally gave that book to me a few years ago, when I first started yeshiva."

"And you're willing to give me this precious gift even though it means so much to you?"

"I can get another one without much trouble. I don't have a lot of money, so this book is the least I can give you to thank you for your hospitality. I hope it's of as much help and comfort to you as it's been to me." He shook Tevye's hand warmly. "You're a good man, Reb Tevye – a good father, and your wife really is an _eyshes khayil_, just like you said. I know you've suffered much, but I pray that Hashem will reward you in the end." He cast a fleeting glance at Taybl, his cheeks and ears flushing. He continued quickly as if trying to get all the words out in one breath, "Your daughters are gems. Cherish them. Well, I know that you know that, I just thought I should tell you, because… I… I wish them happiness and many blessings from heaven, and good husbands who will honor them as they deserve…."

Tevye placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes shining. "Thank you, Reb Levi-Yitzhok. In some ways… you are the image of the son I wish I had. I hope you visit us again, next time you pass through on your way back to your _rebbe_."

"Gladly!" Bowing his head slightly, he removed his cap and held it against his heart. "Will you bless me, Reb Tevye?"

Tevye stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Well, I see no harm in it." Placing his hands on Levi-Yitzhok's head, he intoned the blessing over sons that his father had used on him many years before, and which he himself never had the chance to use on any sons of his own: "_Yesimeykho Eloyhim k'Efrayim v'khi-Menashe. Yevorekhekho Adonoy veyishm'rekho. Yoeyr Adonoy ponov eylekho vikhunekho. Yiso Adonoy ponov eylekho v'yoseym lekho sholom_."

Mere moments later, with Levi-Yitzhok's black-clad figure gradually diminishing on the horizon, Tevye turned to his daughter. "Well, my child, I told you this Sabbath guest would be better than the last one. He's a fine young man, don't you think?"

Taybl didn't reply and headed back inside. When she went to wipe her face before resuming her chores, she was surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Bokher_: Young man or bachelor._  
Chas v'sholom_: God forbid; literally means "mercy and peace."

**Quotations:**

_Yesimeykho Eloyhim_...: The blessing traditionally said over sons on Friday evenings; "May God make you like Ephraim and Manasseh. May the Lord bless you and protect you. May the Lord make His face shine on you and be gracious to you. May the Lord turn His face toward you and grant you peace."


	8. Interlude: Tsaytl and Motl

**A/N:** The original stories were written over a long period, and events seem to take place more or less in real-time. Thus, the story about Tsaytl and Motl was published in 1899, and by the time the next story ("Hodl") was published in 1902, about three years had passed not only in the real world, but in Tevye's world as well. Or at least, that's the assumption I'm going with. Just thought I should mention that to avoid confusion!

* * *

**Interlude:  
Tsaytl and Motl**

Motl sat in front of his sewing machine, giving its wheel an initial spin and pressing his feet down on the treadle to keep the momentum going. As the needle moved up and down rapidly, seeming to shake the whole house with its rattling, Motl carefully aligned the piece of white fabric he was working on in order to ensure that the stitches were close and even. He frowned in concentration, sticking out his tongue ever so slightly in that endearing way of his, a way that Tsaytl found adorable even almost ten years into their marriage. Motl bought the machine used from the same Yehupetz businessman who regularly sold him the spools of thread and bolts of fabric that were the tools of his trade. "It's a quality machine, made in Germany," the man had assured him. Even though Motl thought the price meant the machine was probably third-hand rather than secondhand as the fellow insisted, it had still proven to be a solid investment. Motl saw it as his personal pledge to his father-in-law that he would continue to work hard and take care of Tsaytl and any children they had.

Motl felt his wife's eyes on him and glanced up at her almost guiltily. She stood in the doorway cradling their youngest daughter in her arms, a glow of contentment lighting up her face and making her lovelier than ever. Motl tried to smile back, but the malnourished, faintly green-tinged pallor on his wife and child's faces disheartened him, so he pretended he needed to readjust his eyeglasses. He didn't understand how she could continue to love him as she did, despite the stressful years of hardship and hunger and maternity that had snatched her girlhood early. On some nights, when he retired after another long day full of hard work, little pay and even less food, he had to stop himself from weeping. He would face his wife, who no doubt felt as worn out as he did, having spent her day scrubbing the floors of rich people's dachas and serving them course after course of the kind of succulent food she could only dream about. "Tsaytl," he would ask, "are you happy?"

He would hear a rustle of covers as she turned to face him and kiss his hand. "I'm the happiest woman in the world," she would reply, and even though it was dark Motl could sense that she was smiling.

Then, together, they would listen to the soft, somnolent sighs of their children sleeping in the other room.

On this particular afternoon, Motl was making last-minute adjustments to a wedding dress for Breyndl, Reb Chatzkel Rozenfeld's daughter, who was getting married in two days to a pimply young scholar from Vilna. Reb Chatzkel's recently increased economic prospects allowed him to afford this sort of luxury, so Breyndl and her mother marched into Motl's shop as if they owned the place, insisting on controlling – and repeatedly changing – every last detail of the bride's outfit.

Still, Motl couldn't do much complaining. Weddings brought good business, and business had been lacking lately.

"I'm sure she'll look lovely in it," Tsaytl said, though Motl barely heard her over the clatter of the machine.

Motl stopped sewing. "What?"

"You do good work, Motl. They all know it. Even after all her complaining, I'm sure Breyndl will love her dress." She sighed as the baby stirred restlessly in her arms. "Weddings are supposed to be wonderful… but all the same, I wonder."

"Wonder what? Ours was wonderful."

"We already loved each other by then, Motl. Sharing that together has made it so much easier to endure everything else – the poverty, the hunger." She had a faraway look in her eyes. "But then I think about the fate I narrowly escaped… the sort of fate girls like Breyndl must resign themselves to…. She doesn't know him, Motl. She's never even set eyes on him before. Do Taybl and Beylke have that same future ahead of them? What kind of life is that?"

Motl looked down at the part of the dress he was sewing, and for a brief moment – only a heartbeat, perhaps – it seemed to be a shroud.


	9. A Wedding

**A Wedding**

Golde had dressed her daughters in their holiday best for the occasion, shining their shoes and plaiting their hair and bedecking them in what little jewelry existed in the house, even going so far as vigorously scrubbing their fingernails and pinching their cheeks to make them redder. All this was done in the hopes that one of the mothers of bachelor sons would catch sight of the natural beauty of Golde's girls and whisper a word or two in Efrayim the matchmaker's ear. "We don't have much money or an impressive _yichus_ to speak of," Golde said, tying a last silk ribbon into Beylke's golden hair as Taybl looked on, "but you shouldn't underestimate the value of looks. And everyone knows what kinds of daughters Tevye and Golde have, _keyn eyn-horeh_! Daughters as beautiful and clever as Queen Esther herself!" With the way her mother fussed over her, Taybl had to wonder whose wedding this actually was.

The deep black sky was cloudless, allowing innumerable stars to shine undimmed like strings of polished gems, but the late winter wind still had a considerable bite. Taybl only had one wool coat, a somewhat threadbare hand-me-down from Chava that was a bit too short in the sleeves, but she hugged it close to her body as she and her family made their candlelit way to the open yard behind the synagogue where the new white _khupe_, glowing pale blue in the moonlight, stood waiting. A group of somber, bearded men in black silk caftans — the groom's guests, Taybl assumed, since she didn't recognize any of them from the nearby towns — stood around it, and in the midst of them, standing out in his crisp white _kittel_, stood the lanky, pimple-faced groom whose name no one seemed to remember. His only memorable characteristic was his strong Litvish dialect; he had a strange way of pronouncing his vowels. And besides, Taybl thought uncharitably but with a smile, his voice sounded like a bleating goat's. Even the wispy beard on his chin looked like a goat's, she thought, catching a fleeting glimpse of him from the women's side.

However, any laughter she may have had at his expense quickly vanished when she really scrutinized his face. It was round and almost as pale as the moon that illuminated it, but what struck Taybl the most was the obvious fear in his eyes. It wasn't even nervousness; it was genuine fear. From that moment, she pitied him, but when Breyndl – the bride, looking truly splendid in the dress Motl tailored for her – emerged arm in arm with her mother and mother-in-law, Taybl pitied her more. She couldn't see Breyndl's face under the veil, but the way the mothers guided her in circles around the groom made it seem like they were dragging a lifeless rag doll.

"Soon it will be you, Taybele," a neighbor next to her said.

"_Im yirtzeh Hashem_," she replied automatically, but as she watched this supposedly joyous ceremony taking place with all the mirth of a shiva, she herself began to grow afraid.

"They say the groom's a rising star at the Volozhin yeshiva," said Rifke, a stout woman who sold handwoven baskets at Anatevka's market. "Doesn't mean much to me, personally, but it means something to some people."

"How lucky that Reb Chatzkel was able to match his daughter with a scholar!" said Sheynde, the blacksmith's wife who was an attendant at the local women's _mikveh_. "Imagine! Reb Chatzkel provides the money, and his new son-in-law will redeem him with Torah!"

At the mention of the groom's reputation for learnedness, Taybl couldn't help but think of Levi-Yitzhok, wherever he was now. Was this the life of the scholar, then — to marry into a wealthy family and be fed and clothed and sheltered in return for studying holy books all day? And what about the scholar's wife, who no doubt would be darning her husband's socks and mending his shirts while he dozed after a late night vigil in the _beis midrash_? Where was the fairness in that? Taybl was so upset at the idea that she hastily retreated from her spot near the men's section in order to join the company of girls her own age, but when she saw that all they were doing was spying out potential mates across the low makeshift _mechitza_, she retreated even further, going to lean against the synagogue wall. She turned her face toward the clear sky, watching the mist from her breath rise heavenward until it dissolved on the air like a whisper.

Reb Mendel, who was presiding over the wedding in place of his father, recited the Sheva Brachos with his usual exactness, not daring to miss a note or skip a vowel. Taybl wasn't sure if it was due to his meticulousness or the generally too-somber atmosphere, but the ceremony seemed to drag on much longer than it normally would have. By the fifth blessing, the groom's shoulders sagged, and by the seventh, even the flowers in the bride's bouquet seemed to wilt. The breaking of the glass, which the groom performed with a surprising burst of energy, was a mercy; as the sound of its shattering echoed all around, the guests seemed to stir to life with a piercing cry of "_mazel tov_!" as men and women rushed forward from both sides of the _mechitza_ to seat the new husband and wife on chairs and carry them over their heads.

Obeying a cue of their own devising, a small band of _klezmorim_ moved near the _khupe _and broke into a fast-paced dance tune. Attracted by the shift in mood, Taybl returned to the center of the festivities to watch them. Usually musicians were recruited from among local townsfolk who merely played instruments as their hobbies, so it was rare to come across professionals in a small town like Anatevka. This was a motley bunch: the fiddler was a short, mustachioed man with slicked-back hair, and his suit was of a cut that was popular in the West ten or so years ago; the tsimbl player was old with a venerably long beard and, in contrast with the fiddler, was soberly dressed in a dark grey wool overcoat and matching peaked cap; the accordionist was little more than a boy who might have come from God only knew what urban alleyway, judging by his colorful but mismatched clothing; and the redheaded trumpeter was a tall man who looked like a Russian _muzhik_ with his untucked, unbuttoned _kosovorotka_, baggy trousers, and felt _valenki_.

But Taybl's gaze was drawn most of all to the clarinetist who played the lead melody with such artistry that it sounded like his instrument was signing with a human voice, complete with shrill laughter and heaving sobs. He wasn't much older than she was and yet he had already grown into strong-jawed, athletic manhood. He was clean-shaven and his thick hair was styled with pomade and parted to one side, but a few rebellious black curls fell against his forehead. A corner of his mouth was turned up in a slight smile – or perhaps a smirk – and he stared straight ahead in her direction but without apparently seeing her.

Her sister danced by, and Taybl put out an arm to stop her. "Beylke, do you know who they are?"

"How should I know?" Beylke replied, annoyed that she had been interrupted. "They're just some traveling band that came up from the city. Now shut up and start dancing, silly!" She grabbed her sister's hands and tried to coax her into joining the circle, but Taybl resisted, and Beylke continued on without her.

The song ended, and while the violinist and tsimbl player took up a duet, Taybl was astonished to see the clarinetist walk up to her carrying his instrument under his arm, although he remained on the other side of the _mechitza_. "What are you doing all by your lonesome self out here?" he asked.

"I might as well as you the same question," she replied. "Your bandmates are over there."

"Ah, well," he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets, "you know what they say. When boy meets girl…"

She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm not familiar with what 'they' say," she countered icily.

"No, I don't suppose you would be," he said, his voice gentle. "My apologies." He looked at her as though searching for something. "It's just that I get this feeling you and I would have a lot to say to each other. Your face is like an open book — I can read everything that's written there. You've got quite a story to tell."

"Are there any other special talents of yours I should know about, since it seems that you're a mind-reader as well as a _klezmer_?"

"Oh, lots! But now isn't the time for that — it's the time for dancing! This is a wedding, for God's sake. Go, on, dance! Even you pious types ought to live it up a little." He smiled. "And since you didn't ask, my name's Yasha Spivak. What's yours?"

"Taybl! Get over here right now!" came her mother's voice, answering the clarinetist's question.

Taybl obeyed the command without looking back. "Yes, Mama?"

Golde took her aside to adjust her hair. "Who was that, Taybele?" her mother asked calmly and with apparent disinterest, but Taybl noticed an almost imperceptible glint of fear in her eyes.

"One of the _klezmorim_," Taybl replied. "The clarinetist, actually."

"Oh? And what did he say to you?"

"He was just encouraging me to dance, that's all. He's a _klezmer_ — that's what they do, isn't it?"

Golde gave her a long look. "That may be, Taybl, that may be — but listen to me. Even if you never listen to anything else I say, listen to this. Stay away from that clarinetist. No good can ever come of a man like that. Do you understand? Stay away from him, and from all _klezmorim_!"

"Yes, Mama…" Taybl murmured. She took a quick glance at the musicians and saw that Yasha had rejoined them, placing the clarinet to his lips in preparation for another song. Their eyes met, and he winked.

* * *

**Glossary:**

_Im yirtzeh Hashem_: "God willing."_  
Keyn-eyn-horeh_: Literally, "no evil eye"; it's said after a positive statement to avoid tempting bad luck.  
_Kittel_: White robe worn by Jewish men at their weddings and on some holidays such as Yom Kippur and the Passover seder; it doubles as a burial shroud.  
_Klezmer_: Musician (in this context, not a musical genre; that association came later in the century).  
_Kosovorotka_: Skewed-collar shirt reaching down to the mid-thigh, worn untucked and with a belt over it; favored by rural folk and would-be revolutionaries.  
_Litvish_: Northeastern variety of Yiddish spoken chiefly in present-day Lithuania and Belarus.  
_Mazel tov_: "Congratulations" (literally, "good luck", although it's not used in the English sense of the phrase).  
_Mechitza_: Divider that separates men from women in some synagogues and at public Jewish events.  
_Mikveh_: Ritual bath.  
_Muzhik_: Russian word for peasant.  
_Valenki_: Traditional Russian winter footwear made of wool felt.  
_Yichus_: Pedigree, family background.


End file.
